


A House To Call Home

by miss_grey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Home Improvement, M/M, home buyer dean, real estate agent! cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel is a real estate agent and Dean is just looking for a house he can call his home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House To Call Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beginte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginte/gifts).



> This is just a fluffy little piece written with the intention of cheering up my friend Beginte :) I hope you enjoy it hun!

 

 

_August_

 

          Dean was nervous from the very beginning.  About moving, about settling down, about putting all of his savings into a house that he may or may not decide he likes.  Usually Sammy was the one to deal with things like this, and Dean just went along for the ride.  His brother was so much better about asking all the important questions and shaking hands at the right time, and commenting on the goddam _crown molding_ for god’s sake.  This really wasn’t Dean’s kind of thing.  He didn’t know what questions to ask, or even what exactly he was supposed to be looking for in a house.  He was a simple kind of guy—as long as he had a roof over his head that didn’t leak and a warm meal in his belly, he was generally pretty content.

          But things were different now.  Sam had settled down with Gabriel, his boyfriend of three years, started a career as a promising young lawyer, and bought a house.  Dean figured he didn’t really have any excuse not to start doing the same, a thing that Sam pointed out almost every single time they spoke on the phone.  So that’s how Dean found himself, early on a Saturday morning in late August, standing in front of an old, run-down farmhouse on the edge of Sioux Falls, waiting for Gabriel’s brother, a real estate agent, to show up with the keys.  Dean had been waiting for a few minutes already, which wasn’t a big deal—he had arrived about a half-hour early.  He pushed away from the hood of his Impala where he’d been reclining, and decided he might as well give the place a look.

          The house stood on ten solid acres of Midwestern earth, formerly part of a large farm that had been pieced up and sold during the Depression, and it had been picked apart even more since then.  It was obvious that no one had lived here for a while—either because the place was still too expensive for the locals and it had gone unnoticed by the larger real estate companies, or because it was creepy looking enough that people didn’t want to take their chances on it being haunted, Amityville Horror style.  The land was overgrown—knee high, golden prairie grass covered most of what Dean could see and pushed up close to the abandoned house.  It gave the place a desolate feel, and Dean could see how others might think there could be a burial ground right around back, or hell, they might even just feel the echo of the desperate sadness of the Depression, and the way that whole families had lost their livelihoods to dust and the Stock Market.  Dean saw that; it was everywhere to see, no hiding it—a trauma that America’s heartland never quite recovered from.  But he saw a lot of other things as well, things that most folks probably wouldn’t bother looking hard enough to take note of.

           Like the large tree out front that still had a sturdy rope swing hanging from one of the strong, ancient branches.  If Dean closed his eyes, he could almost picture he and Sammy as kids playing on a swing just like that, and he thought that when either he or Sam had kids, he’d like them to be able to play on something like that as well.  The farmhouse sat at the end of a long dirt lane miles from any significant highway, and the driveway consisted of old dirt tire tracks that had obviously been carved into the land over decades—even the prairie grass didn’t trespass there.

            The house itself was a two-story giant, a hell of a lot bigger than anything Dean would need by himself, but the price was within his budget, and he figured _Why not?  Go big or go home, Winchester._ The house had once been white-washed, but the sun and the wind had bleached the color from the wood, turning it a dull white-gray color, almost like very old bones that had been left out to weather.  A lot of old houses ended up like this.  The roof could use some new shingles, Dean could tell that from here, but the thing hadn’t caved in yet through the years of disuse, so he figured that counted for something.  One of the upstairs windows was cracked, but still there.  Probably the result of a stone thrown by bored neighbor kids, or an unfortunate bird. 

            Dean was about to start peeking in windows when he heard a rumbling down the lane and turned in time to see a beat-up old pickup drive up the worn track.  Dean’s brows darted up in amused confusion when the man behind the wheel popped the squeaky door open and climbed out, pulling a tan trench-coat close around his body.  He wore a slightly rumpled black suit underneath it, with a backwards blue tie.  His shoes were scuffed at the toes, the laces fraying at the ends.  His hair was messy enough that Dean figured the guy had either slept on it, or the wind had gotten ahold of it.  He had a pretty intense five o’clock shadow darkening his chin and jaw, but his eyes were a bright blue, and betrayed the rest of the image.  They were alert and friendly, and the man strode over to Dean, hand out, huffing a breath, before he said in a deep voice, “Hello, I’m Castiel.  You must be Dean, Sam’s brother.  Sorry for the wait—had a little family trouble this morning.”

            Dean quirked a brow and eyed the guy again.  “You’re a real estate agent?”

            Castiel glanced down at himself and actually managed a blush.  “I apologize.  Normally I am more…put together, but… I’m sure you know how family can be.”

            Dean snorted.  “Yeah, sure do.  No worries man, I ain’t gonna judge.  Got the keys?”

            “Oh, yes!”  Castiel reached into his pocket.  “Right here.  Let’s go take a look, shall we?”

            Dean followed Castiel up the path and he stood patiently on the slightly creaky front porch while Castiel fitted a key into an ancient lock.  He had to shove the door open, but once he did, Dean was pleased to see a wide foyer that was bright and clean despite a thin layer of dust and slightly stale air.  “So,” Castiel prompted, when he waved Dean in, “Sam and Gabriel tell me that you’ve decided to move up from Kansas?”  Dean nodded absently while he dragged his eyes over the light wood paneling on the walls.  “Is it just you moving in?”

            “Yeah, why?”  Dean asked, as he ran his fingers over the wall and took a turn into the kitchen.  The appliances were obviously left over from the 1950s, and the floor was black and white checkered, most likely a more modern attempt at remodeling.

            Castiel shrugged and followed close behind Dean.  “No reason, really, it’s just… this place is awful big for one person.”

            Dean glanced back at the other man and caught him biting his lip thoughtfully as he stared down at the tile work.  “Yeah, maybe,” Dean conceded, “But I hate moving, so I figured if I’m gonna do it, I want whatever place I choose to be _the one,_ ya know?”

            “I can understand that.”  Castiel murmured.  And Dean hadn’t been imagining things before.  His voice was deep, and a little gruff, but the cadence was calm, the tone soothing.  Castiel’s voice flowed over Dean like water, and it was nice.  “Can I be honest for a moment, Dean?  As a… friend, rather than a real estate agent?”

            Dean turned, eyebrow quirked, and nodded.  “Yeah, sure, Cas.  What’s up?”

            Cas furrowed his brows at the nickname, but didn’t mention it.  “This place is…rather old. It’s been on the market for a long time.  And it would take quite a bit of time and money to fix up.  Why are you interested in it instead of one of the newer homes closer to town?”

            Dean shrugged and glanced out toward the staircase where he could see a simply carved balustrade winding its way up to the second floor.  “It’s not so bad.  The bones are good, I think.  It just needs a little TLC, and then it’ll be good as new, ya know?  Besides,” Dean said, smirk falling to a softer smile, “I guess I just have a soft spot for fixer uppers.”

            Maybe Castiel heard the softer tone in Dean’s words, or maybe he knew more about Dean than he was letting on, but either way, his frown melted away and a small smile took its place.  “I can appreciate that.”  Cas said, nodding resolutely.  “In that case, let me tell you a little history about the place while we take a look at the upstairs.”

 

 

 

            Maybe it wasn’t necessarily the most financially sensible decision on his part, but before the tour was done, Dean had already made up his mind to buy the old farmhouse.  It would take hard work and time, but Dean wasn’t afraid of a little dirt and sweat.  And he had plenty of time on his hands nowadays anyway.  And besides, what was a little effort when it came to turning a house into a home?  In the end, Dean was sure it’d be worth it.

 

 

 

 

            They met at Cas’s cramped little office in town to sign the paperwork, and even though Dean was a bit nervous, he didn’t hesitate to put his name to paper.  After all of the forms were squared away and filed, Cas folded his hands across the desk and said “So, you’re really going to do this.”

            Dean grinned and motioned toward the filing cabinet.  “Sure looks that way.”

            “In that case, let me give you a few recommendations on places to buy supplies and local craftsmen you can call if you need help with anything.”

            “Sure, Cas, thanks.  I’d appreciate that.”

            “Come on, let me buy you a coffee and we’ll talk.”

 

 

 

_September_

            Castiel had never had much opportunity to work with his hands before—it wasn’t that he was averse to the dirt and the sweat, it was just that he’d always felt more inclined toward intellectual pursuits.  But he had to admit that this—fixing things, building things with his own hands—was rewarding, and it satisfied an old craving deep inside of himself.

            As it turned out, Dean wasn’t the kind of guy who called in professionals, even if he’d never done a project before.  He was prideful that way, but it wasn’t glaring and hostile pride—it was simple and honest.  And instead of seeking out help, Dean took the time to teach himself the proper way to do things, even if that meant dealing with century-old plumping, or replacing old copper wires.  And while he didn’t seek out help, Castiel had learned that Dean didn’t reject an honest offer either.

            That’s how Castiel somehow found himself spending his weekends at Dean’s house, dressed in t-shirts and old, stained jeans that he barely ever had cause to wear anymore, covered in dirt and sawdust, drenched in sweat, but oddly happy.  The first time he’d showed up to the house and hesitantly knocked on the front door, Dean had been busy stripping old paint and wallpaper from the walls, his face covered in one of those strange white masks to keep dust and chemicals out.  He’d shoved the mask aside and grinned, obviously surprised to find Castiel on his doorstep.  “Well hey there, Cas.  What ya doing here?”

            Castiel had shifted on his feet, feeling strange in a dress shirt and black slacks, but he’d smiled anyway and said “Figured you might need some help.  I have to warn you, I know nothing about home repair but, well…I’m willing if you are.”

            Dean clapped him on the back, dragged him into the house, and said, “Let me show you how to strip paint.  Also, dude…do you always dress like that?”

            The second time Castiel had shown up, he’d come wearing jeans and an old shirt, and Dean had actually _winked_ at him. 

            Somewhere between stripping paint and replacing old toilets, Dean and Cas had come to a sort of understanding, had formed a strange friendship that didn’t need defining.

            Castiel showed up every weekend to help.  Sometimes, Sam and Gabriel swung by with lunch, and to see how the house was coming along.  Other times, it was just the two of them, but after a long day of hard work, Dean would pull two icy cold beers from the ancient fridge and they’d sit out on the rickety old porch and watch the sun set together.

            When Castiel went home after those days, sweaty and dirty, he felt good for the company and the physical exertion.  But standing alone in his apartment, he found himself impatient for the next weekend.

 

 

 

 

_October_

            “So, when are you moving in with Deano?”

            Cas frowned across his desk at his brother, who had his feet propped up on a pile of important paperwork.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gabriel.  Also, get your feet off my desk.  We’ve talked about this.”

            Gabriel snorted but humored his brother by lowering his feet.  “Come on, you practically live with him as it is.  You spend like every waking moment there.”

            Cas blushed and shifted in his seat.  “I do not.  Just the weekends, and the occasional evening.  I’m helping him to renovate his house.  The one I sold him.”

            “Mmmhmm.  And is that all?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Come on, Cassie.  I’ve seen him in here too, bringing you lunch and stuff.  You two are so into each other it’s disgusting.”

            “Gabriel,” Cas sighed, “It’s…we’re not like that.  We’re friends.  That’s all.”

            “Sure thing, baby bro.”  Gabriel stood and reached across the desk to mess Castiel’s hair up.  “Keep lying to yourself.  The two of you don’t fool me or Sam, though.  Just let us know the wedding date ahead of time, alright?”  Then he was out the door before Castiel could find something suitable to throw at him.

 

 

 

 

            When Castiel pulled his old pickup truck into the drive in front of Dean’s house later that evening, it was to find the man already sitting out on the porch steps, beer in hand with another unopened beside him.  A cold wind blasted Cas as he stepped out of the warm confines of his truck, and he made his way quickly over to the other man.  When he reached him, Dean held up the other beer with a smile.  Cas shivered but took it anyway.  He frowned down at Dean.  “It’s freezing out here, Dean. Why aren’t you inside?”

            Dean shrugged and took another pull from his bottle.  “Knew you were coming.  Figured I’d wait for you.”

            Cas rolled his eyes and settled on the steps next to Dean, despite the chill.  “You’re ridiculous,” he admonished as he twisted his own bottle open and took a gulp.

            Dean smirked.  “You know you love it.”

            Cas shifted uncomfortably.  “Dean….”

            Dean must have realized his mistake because he cleared his throat and bumped Castiel’s shoulder playfully.  “Just messing, Cas.”

 

 

 

_November_

            Mid-November found Dean and Cas curled up on the couch in front of an old tv Dean had found at a thrift store in town for $20.  It was ancient, and it had rabbit ear antennae, but it worked just fine hooked up to Dean’s combo DVD-VCR player, and really, that was all that mattered.  They’d spent the day painting the outside of the house, finally.  Dean had said early on that the cosmetic stuff didn’t bother him and could wait, but Castiel had firmly reminded him that there would be heavy snow soon.  In fact, they’d shivered throughout the job, but Dean was happy with the new coat of white paint that covered the house, and the blue-gray trim they’d put up made the windows pop.  The place looked classy, in a rustic sort of way, but Dean was pleased with it.  And anyway, Cas had helped to pick the trim color, so there was that.

            Now, after the long day of work, the two of them had settled in with pizza, beer, and _Die Hard_ on VHS.  It was the third time Dean had coerced Cas into watching the film since he’d moved into town.  Cas complained every single time, citing that the movie was “trite” and “predictable.”  Dean just shrugged him off and replied “Dude…it’s _Die Hard._ Action flicks just don’t get any better than this.”  Cas always rolled his eyes, but he watched the movie with Dean anyway.

            On this particular night, Dean probably sat a little too close, his thigh and shoulder brushing Cas’s, but the other man didn’t say anything or move, so Dean figured there was nothing to say about it.  Outside, a cold wind whipped  the nearby trees and shook the upstairs shutters.  Dean would have to tighten them up in the morning, and see about adding an extra layer of caulking to the window seams.   

            Inside, though, inside it was warm and comfortable, and Dean took pleasure in knowing that he’d worked hard for months to make this place nice.  Not just to make it livable, but to make it… home.  And it did feel like home, in a way that almost no place had felt since he was a child.  He had a roof over his head, good food, entertainment, a warm, dry, safe place, and good company.

            Cas slouched next to him as the movie wore on, slowly growing more and more tired.  He looked so much different now, compared to the rumpled real estate agent that Dean had first met back at the end of the summer.  He was so much more relaxed now, casual.  His jeans had holes in the knees, holes he’d gotten from crawling around on his knees while helping Dean to repair the old wooden floors.  His old gray t-shirt was stained with white swipes of paint from the day’s job, and as Dean peered closer, he saw a stray fleck of the stuff near Cas’s temple.  He reached a hand out to swipe his fingers against it, unthinking.  Cas must have been distracted, or too tired to care, because he didn’t pull away.  Instead, he leaned into the touch, sighing deeply when Dean allowed his fingers to trail into his thick, dark hair.  “Tired, Cas?”  Dean murmured.  The other man simply nodded and leaned closer to Dean.  “Wanna stay?”

            “Yes.”

            Dean probably could have carried him to the guest room, or just thrown a blanket over him and left him in the living room after the movie ended, but he didn’t.  Instead, Dean pulled a blanket around the both of them, popped in _The Untouchables,_ and fell asleep against Cas, figuring if it was weird in the morning, he could always pretend it was an accident.

 

 

            Dean woke up with a kink in his neck, and Cas’s hair looked like it had been to Hell and back.  Cas blinked his eyes open just after Dean, and they both took stock of the fact that they were wrapped around each other, under a nest of blankets on Dean’s comfy old couch, with the tv glaring a steady blue screen at them.  Dean was warm and Cas was soft and cozy in his arms, his t-shirt rucked up just enough that the hot skin of his belly pressed against Dean’s.

            It should have been weird, but it wasn’t.

 

 

 

 

            Dean and Cas were having a burger with Sam and Gabriel at a diner in town when Dean cleared his throat and said, “So, uh… I think I wanna do Thanksgiving at my place this year, if that’s cool with everyone?”

            Sam shared a grin with Gabriel and then said “I think that’s a great idea, Dean!  Nothing like christening the place with your first official holiday, right?”

            Gabriel snorted at Sam’s word choice, and Sam stomped his foot under the table.

            “Awesome.  I’ll handle the meat,” Gabe snorted again “Sammy, you can bring all the rabbit food you want.  Gabe—you’re on pie duty.  And Cas…hmmm…you get to bring the cranberry sauce.”

            Castiel’s eyes widened and he turned to where Dean sat next to him in the booth. “I…I’m invited as well?”

            Dean rolled his eyes and nudged their shoulders together, his leg bumping Cas’s as well.  “Of course you’re invited, man.”  Dean rubbed his knee against Cas’s where no one else could see.  “It wouldn’t be right without you.”

 

 

 

_December_

            “Dean, _be careful_!”  Cas admonished from the foot of the ladder where he held it steady in the snow. 

            “You worry too much, Cas!”  Dean called back.  A moment later, he stretched too far again, nearly unbalancing himself as he struggled to tack up the second string of Christmas lights to the edge of the porch roof.  Cas had to take a deep breath to calm himself.  Images of Dean falling, or of Cas losing his grip kept flashing through his mind.  When Cas felt in control of himself again, he glanced up and was met with the sight of Dean’s jean clad ass descending the ladder one wobbly step at a time.  “Done!”  He called, a moment before he would have collided with Cas.

            Cas took a step back, but was loathe to let go of the ladder lest it should slip at the last moment.  Dean didn’t seem to care, though.  He dropped to the ground in the cage of Cas’s arms then turned to face the other man, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  “You gonna let me outta here, Cas?”

            Castiel rolled his eyes and took a step back, muttering “You’re insufferable.”

            Dean grabbed him by the fabric of his heavy jacket and pulled him back in close, so that their chests collided.  Cas huffed, but Dean cut him off with a press of warm lips.  Cas sighed against him, and he felt Dean grin.  “You love it.”  Dean murmured, before pulling back with a chuckle.  “Come on, Cas, let’s throw the lights and check out our handiwork.”  He squeezed Cas’s hand and winked at the man.  “Then I say we go inside and warm up a bit.”  Cas blushed, but it only served to encourage Dean, who slapped him on the ass.

            A moment later, Dean switched the power on, and raced back outside to join Cas.  The string of lights wasn’t particularly impressive, and Dean knew that no one outside of his family would see them, but they filled him with warmth anyway.  He wrapped his arm around Cas’s waist and tugged him closer.  The blinking colors flashed glares of light across the snow that littered the roof and made it sparkle. 

           The lights, like the house, weren’t fancy, and they weren’t perfect.  But they’d been put up with love, and that was enough.

           Dean sort of thought that was probably what home was like, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Also feel free to come find me on my tumblr: http://realhunterswearplaid.tumblr.com/


End file.
